


Storytime

by MarzgaPerez



Series: Together, Apart [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Daddy Gallavich, Family Feels, M/M, Prison sucks balls, Temper Tantrums
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-27 20:53:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Two years have passed since Part 1, “Babble,” a Season 6 Fix-It.Mickey is still doing time for the attempted murder of Ian’s half sister, and Ian has remained true to his commitment to wait for Mickey to be released from prison. He’s helping Svetlana raise Yev and managing the roller coaster of emotions that come with their current circumstances.





	Storytime

Ian pulled the hand-me-down Power Rangers blanket to rest just beneath Yev’s arms. He was so peaceful like this, and Ian couldn’t help but notice how much the tot looked like his father. One of his arms was tucked into his side and the other was gripping the stuffed walrus they’d named Mickey—because it was a gift from Mickey for Yev’s 3rd birthday. They’d opened the brightly-wrapped box together, Mickey watching from the other side of the visitation glass, or the “window”, according to Yev. It pained Ian to think about how, in another year, Yev would probably start asking more pressing questions about why his father lived in a different place and why he always had to wear orange and why they could only talk to him through a phone. 

There was a dull ache in Ian’s chest now, remembering how Mickey’s eyes glazed over with tears at the sight of Yev jumping up and down with glee and hugging onto that stuffed walrus like it was his best friend. He had been over the moon, shouting, “Thank you, Daddy! Thank you!” Though it sounded more like “tank you” since he was still learning to how to make the _ th _ sound. 

The apartment Ian currently shared with Svetlana and Yev was quiet. Svetlana would likely be out all night, which was fine by Ian. She was a decent roommate, and their arrangement had allowed Ian to be in Yev’s life full time. It also gave Svetlana the chance to pursue a sugar daddy, or basically anyone with a pulse who was willing to marry her so she could stay in the country. She’d told Ian before going out that she feared her current prospect was likely a dud.

It wasn’t quite time to turn in for the night, but Ian wasn’t in the mood to watch anything nor respond to the multiple texts from his siblings. Even though he no longer lived in the same house with them, they still tried to keep in touch on a regular basis. 

For now, he simply wanted to reflect on the events of the day, knowing full well he was crossing into dangerous territory by giving his mind free reign to create some horrible reason for why Mickey had sounded strange on the phone.

His boyfriend had been unusually distant during their afternoon chat, and Ian filled the awkward silence with inane chatter about a few of his rescue calls from earlier in the day. He loved his job as an EMT; he was really good at it. He knew Mickey didn’t mind if he got carried away sharing the details, mostly because Mickey admired how excited Ian got about his work. 

They had a few minutes left, and Mickey asked how Yev was doing in daycare, still fearful that he might be too rough with the other children—because he was a Milkovich, after all. Ian assured him that Yev was very well-behaved at school. Home was a different story, and though he knew Mickey felt detached from Yev’s life at the moment, Ian reminded him that he’d managed to avoid the random tantrums and drama that came with potty training a strong-willed child like Yev. Mickey would laugh and say “thank fuck for that,” but they both knew he hated the thought of missing a single moment with either of them.

Before saying their goodbyes, Mickey muttered, out of the blue, “Maybe you shouldn’t come up this weekend.”

Ian didn’t respond right away. It was this thing Mickey did every so often to let Ian know he was off the hook if he wanted to be. He never took the bait, he knew Mickey didn’t want him to, and he knew that Mickey knew he wouldn’t. 

“No, we’ll be there. Yev’s been asking about you. Did the books finally arrive? He’s gonna love hearing ‘em.” 

“Yeah, they did. It’d be way fuckin’ easier to read to him if we weren’t separated by that damn glass.”

Ian could literally feel the despondence in Mickey’s tone and tried to be encouraging about the progress his attorney had been making with his appeal. “I’ve got a meeting with Brooks next week. He’s working as fast as he can. Please try to hang in there.”

“Yeah, sure. Same thing you say every time.”

A wave of guilt washed over Ian as they said, what felt like, perfunctory “I love you’s” before Mickey’s phone time expired. Even though he knew it had been the right thing to do, Ian wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t convinced Mickey to put his plan to escape from prison on hold.

_ Don’t do anything stupid, Mickey. Just don’t. Please. Let the lawyers do their job, _he remembered telling Mickey over and over again. 

Right around a year into his sentence, Mickey was more impatient than Ian had ever seen him, climbing the fucking walls of that place. He’d gotten thrown into solitary for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and trying to break up a fight. _ So much for good behavior_, Mickey had written Ian, fearful that his eight years would turn back into fifteen, doubtful that anything he and Ian were trying to do legally to get him out sooner was going to happen.

Ian could read Mickey like a book. He barely had to tell the redhead anything, not after talking incessantly about his cellmate, Damon, for weeks, and dropping hints here and there, like, _Won’t__ it be nice when I’m out, we can take a road trip down to Mexico. Maybe start a new life there with Yev. _

And, _Damon knows a lot of shit, man, like, a lot. He’s well connected, you know. Very resourceful. We’ve been hanging out lately. He’s a good guy. I trust him. _

But Ian kept reassuring him and begging him not to do the thing he was thinking about doing, which was really difficult because neither of them could say anything specific, especially if Damon went through with the plan on his own and Mickey was questioned about it or implicated.

And then, just like that, the opportunity was gone. Damon was transferred to another facility and with him went the possibility of freedom that Mickey had been desperately clinging to.

Now he was two years into his sentence, and it felt like they were no closer to Mickey winning his appeal. The slow-moving process put a strain on things between Mickey and Ian—phone conversations that were tension-filled and visits that felt like they were just going through the motions. They were both miserable and blaming each other. 

Ian spent extra sessions with his therapist during those times, which was the best place to unload all of his fears and frustrations. He could even talk freely about the shit surrounding Mickey’s abandoned escape plan, and nothing could be revealed because of patient/therapist confidentiality. It wasn’t a topic Ian felt comfortable sharing with his siblings, no matter how much they wanted to be there for him. 

One day at visitation, Mickey finally let Ian have it, his face contorted in rage, his eyes bearing down upon Ian through the glass as he yelled at him, “I fuckin’ told you, I told you to let me handle this shit _ my way_!”

Ian didn’t flinch, he was more relieved that Mickey was letting his anger out and that he’d picked a day when Yev hadn’t come along, not that Mickey would have gone on a tirade with Yev around. Instead of arguing with Mickey, he simply said, “You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

Mickey’s expression changed back to its usual state, almost as quickly as he’d become agitated. “Good,” he huffed. “And sorry for yelling. I just fuckin’ miss you, is all. You and I both know I don’t deserve to be here.”

“I know, Mick. I know.” Truth be told, Ian wanted to break down right then and there. He was tired of pretending that everything was okay, that he didn’t feel the gaping hole in his life every day from Mickey’s absence and the possibilities for them, somewhere in the distant future, but completely out of reach. Maybe they should have fled to Mexico, except that would have left them two impossible choices—kidnap Yev and have Svetlana on their asses, which would have been worse than dealing with the FBI, or leave Yev behind and maybe never see him again. Neither seemed worth the risk.

But there wasn’t any point in dwelling on what had happened. Ian figured he wouldn’t be doing Mickey or Yev or anyone else any good if he broke down and admitted how angry and lonely he was at times. Besides, he had his freedom and his job and his family and all the time he wanted to be with the little boy he’d come to think of as his son. What did Mickey have? Oh, he had time. But not the good kind.

Ian lay in his room, replaying these struggles in his head, momentarily blocking out the many smiles they’d shared over the past two years—like the time that Yev spoke his first words to Mickey and the heartfelt letters they’d written, which Ian had stored in a special box and would pull out every so often. A few months into being back together, Mickey had challenged them to write about and chronicle different times they’d interacted over the years, no matter how brief, and PG versions only (in case the guards really did go through every letter). It was a literal stroll down memory lane that mostly began with: “Remember that time when you were an asshole” or “Remember that time we got busted for...”

As much as they’d struggled and faced hardship throughout their relationship, they’d been able to counter the hard times with having each other’s backs and finding the silver linings in hopeless situations. And when all was said and done, they just truly loved the fuck out of each other.

Ian checked the time on his phone. Nearly midnight. He needed to get some sleep, and he was slowly finding his way out of the dark places in his mind, thinking about recent visits with Mickey where Ian would be telling some story about something that happened with Frank at the Alibi and Yev would wrangle the phone out of his hands and demand that his father sing him a song. It was something that Mickey had started when he’d call Ian’s cell phone some evenings, asking to speak with Yev. 

Making conversation with an easily distracted toddler was a challenge, so Mickey would sing to him. Ian could tell from his muffled voice, though melodious, that his hand cupped was cupped over the phone, lest his fellow inmates overhear him and add that to their never-ending list of things to give Mickey Milkovich shit about.

But that was just the tip of the iceberg as far as embarrassing shit that Mickey would do for his kid. Ian had come up with the brilliant idea of sending children’s books to Mickey that he could bring to the visitation booth and read to Yev, who loved every minute of it. And for those few minutes every week, they felt about as normal as was humanly possible. 

There was no way in hell Ian was going to miss a visit with Mickey, and when Saturday finally came around, the morning seemed to drag by slower than usual. After lunchtime, Ian packed a snack bag for Yev, and grabbed some goldfish for himself, because damn if those little crackers weren’t tasty at any age, and they were off. 

During the drive, Yev entertained himself with some Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle figurines from his uncle Lip. Michaelangelo was Yev’s favorite, likely because orange was his favorite color. Ian turned on the radio to one of the preset stations, humming along to whatever Top 40 garbage was playing. _ Fuck, it’s gonna be a good visit_, Ian decided, tapping the steering wheel along with the thumping beat of the music.

He pulled up to the gates of the prison and provided his name and ID. After being waved through, Ian parked the car and got out to unstrap Yev from his car seat. They walked hand-in-hand to the front entrance, passing through the metal detectors, and waited their turn to be wanded. Ian always told Yev that the wand was a magical device to make sure he hadn’t turned into a robot. 

Ian was on a first name basis with most of the guards, and Larry, a portly gentleman in his sixties, probably close to retirement, had a piece of candy ready to give Yev once they stepped inside the waiting area to sign in. 

“Hey there, young fella! You can eat this in the car on the way home.”

Yev nodded, his blue eyes shining bright, and shouted “thank you!” after a slight nudge from Ian.

As shitty as this place was and for all the heartache it brought with it, there was a human side too, more so from the guards with the visitors, Mickey always reminded Ian, but at least they went out of their way to be kind to Yev.

Ian asked Larry about his grandkids as they waited patiently for the buzzer to sound, indicating that the inmates had been summoned and were ready for their visitors. Ian preferred the last time slot of the day, just in case the guards were feeling generous and let the last round of visitors have a few extra minutes. 

He’d take Yev over to the Gallagher house afterwards so they could hang out with whomever was around and enjoy the distraction from what was always an emotionally fulfilling and draining visit.

It was their time now for visitation, and Ian picked Yev up to carry him inside. As soon as they entered the area, Ian spotted Mickey, and they made eye contact, saying so much with just one glance. _I missed you. Thank fuck you’re here._

Mickey stood up to greet them, and the sight of his boyfriend ignited the same spark it always did. Ian gave Mickey a quick once over, noticing how fit he looked, the short sleeves of his uniform tight against his biceps, but he quieted those thoughts for the time being.

He’d preserve that image of Mickey for later on, when he was alone in his bed, the one he hoped they would be sharing, sooner, rather than later.

Ian could see that Mickey was in a better head space than when they’d talked on the phone the other day, one of the children’s books in his hand, greeting them with a wave. 

Yev waved back and got situated on Ian’s lap, ready to hear the story, and waiting with his palm out for Ian to place the phone next to his ear.

“Just a second, buddy,” Ian told him, wanting to ask Mickey how things were going.

“You doing okay, Mick?” Ian knew it was a fairly idiotic question, under the circumstances, but he always asked anyway.

“Yeah, it’s fuckin’ paradise in here, Red.” Mickey grumbled, rolling his eyes, but then softened his tone. “I’m better today, I guess. Seeing the two of you, plus I got a letter from Mandy yesterday and talked with Iggy this morning on the phone.”

Ian was happy to hear this, sometimes worrying that just his calls and visits with Yev weren’t enough to keep Mickey’s spirits up. Knowing that he had other people who loved him was important.

Before Ian could ask about how his sister and brother were doing, Yev started banging on the glass. “Time to read, Daddy!”

Both men laughed at his eagerness, as did the guard who was standing behind Mickey. Ian recognized her as someone Mickey had spoken about before—CO Burns, according to her name tag. Her first name was Sheila, Ian recalled. She had mousy brown hair that was tucked haphazardly behind her ears, broad shoulders, and an unexpected softness in her eyes. According to Mickey, she’d had the hots for him until she found out he was gay. He’d talked a lot more about Sheila back when he and Damon were making their escape plans, probably hoping to use her as an unsuspecting pawn.

“Kids these days…” Mickey turned around to acknowledge Sheila while pointing at Yev. “This one is spoiled rotten.”

Ian could see that Mickey was making an effort to stay in her good graces. Making friends with the guards was all part of surviving. Sheila seemed to love the attention from Mickey and was fixated on his interactions with Yev. 

He turned back to his visitors and began speaking into the receiver before Yev made any more loud protests. Mickey held up the book, _ The Very Hungry Caterpillar _ by Eric Carle and pointed to the brightly illustrated cover.

“Have you heard this one before, Yev?”

Yev looked up at Ian. “Have I?”

“No, first time,” replied Ian, nuzzling Yev’s blond curls with his nose. “Let’s see what it’s about.”

Ian leaned back slightly and watched as Mickey morphed into an animated version of himself, all for Yev’s amusement. He always managed to capture the tot’s attention, which inevitably led to Yev scooting his face as close to the glass as possible.

Just as Mickey got to the end of the story, where the caterpillar, who was no longer hungry, morphed into a beautiful butterfly, the buzzer sounded to signal the end of visitation.

“Again,” clapped Yev, ignoring the buzzer. “Again!”

Mickey closed the book and replied to Yev with a faint smile. “Next time. I’ll bring it again. Next time.”

“No! Again!” Yev insisted, his little hands forming into fists that he pounded into the counter. “Again, again!”

Mickey shrugged and looked helplessly at Ian. 

“Yev, Daddy has to go now. We can check out the book from the library later today or tomorrow,” Ian offered and lifted the tot into his arms, recognizing the beginnings of a tantrum. He took the receiver and said quickly to Mickey, “We better go before...you know. Call me later?”

Mickey nodded and was backing away from the glass with a remorseful expression, his brow furrowed with worry as he witnessed his usual placid child kicking his feet into the air and wailing. As Ian tried to soothe Yev to no avail, it dawned on him that Mickey had never seen Yev have a tantrum. 

Ian mouthed the words “he’s fine” as he waved to Mickey and focused on getting a screaming Yev back out to the lobby.

Ian pushed past a few of the other visitors and tried to reposition Yev in his arms, noticing his reddened, tear-stained cheeks. “Buddy, it’s okay. We’ll be back next week,” Ian managed, flustered and upset that their visit had ended this way, and worried about how Mickey might take it.

Larry was standing at his post with a sympathetic expression, and he held up his hand to catch Ian before he pushed through the exit door.

“Hold on, son. Sheila, I mean, CO Burns just radioed to say you forgot something.”

Ian touched his back pocket to make sure his keys were still there. He always left his cell phone in the car, and he knew Yev hadn’t carried anything inside. The toddler was still crying, though his screams had quieted.

“I don’t think we left—”

Larry cut him off and held up his hand. “Just a minute.” He appeared to be listening to someone in his earpiece as he spoke back into the apparatus in his hand. “Sure thing. You’ll come out here then?”

Ian wasn’t sure what was going on, but he was relieved that Yev seemed to be distracted and was now wrapping his arms around Ian’s neck, his face pressed against Ian’s chest and his sobbing quieted.

“Everything okay?” Ian asked Larry, as other visitors brushed past him on their way out.

“Yeah. Hang tight. Sheila’s on her way to get you,” Larry explained, reaching out to pat Yev on the back. “Poor little fella.”

“Uh, I’m sorry. Did we do something wrong?”

“Nope,” answered Larry. “Just hang on for another minute or two.”

The room cleared out, and Ian walked over to the water fountain to urge Yev to take a few calming sips. A nervous knot had formed in his stomach, confused by why they were being told not to leave.

Ian jumped at the sound of a door labeled “PRIVATE” being opened near them. He made eye contact with Sheila right away as she said his name. “Ian Gallagher? Come with me.”

“Um...what’s going on?” Ian asked, hesitating to follow her command.

“You forgot something back there.” She rolled her eyes at him, as if he should already know the answer. “You forgot to say goodbye.”

Sheila waited a few more seconds for Ian to react, tapping her foot impatiently until he finally realized what was going on. He held tightly onto Yev and complied, following behind her, hoping she was taking them back to the visitation area to see Mickey once more, and then shocked when she led them to an office, pausing briefly in front of the door and pointing inside.

“You’ve got five minutes with Inmate Milkovich. Five. And no funny business!”

Ian nodded, still not entirely comprehending what was happening, as Sheila walked away. “Yes, ma’am,” he stammered, noticing a tall, burly guard posted a few feet away.

He stepped into the sterile-looking office space, gasping at the sight of a familiar figure standing just a few feet in front of him in his signature orange uniform and no window separating them.

“Oh my God...Mick,” he exhaled, feeling the distance close between them, the softness of Mickey’s lips against his, their foreheads pressed together, and the familiar scent of the man he loved, all of which he had been without for too long. His pulse was racing, and he forced his eyes open, not wanting to squander a single second they had together. 

“I miss you so goddamn much,” Mickey murmured. 

“Me too. So much. Just remember we’re waiting for you.” Ian kissed Mickey once more, every fiber in his being fighting him to stay connected to those soft lips, but he wanted to give Mickey and Yev some time together, too.

He gently shifted Yev into Mickey’s arms and extended his arms briefly around the two of them, before inching back, a warmth radiating through him at the sight of father and son together again, part of him wondering if this was really happening.

Mickey pulled Yev close to his chest and swiped his thumb over a few stray tears, pressing kisses into his hair. “I love you, Yev.” 

Mickey seemed to be biting back tears as Yev looked up at him curiously, knowing he was safe in his arms but clearly confused to have his father so close. Yev put his hands on Mickey’s face, covering his eyes and then letting out a giggle before exploring the rest of his face, running his fingers over the light stubble on Mickey’s cheeks and chin. “It tickles, Daddy. You need to shave.” 

The two men chuckled, and Ian added, “Yev helps me shave sometimes.” He was on the verge of dying right then and there from his heart bursting in his chest.

“I bet he’s a big help,” Mickey beamed at Yev. “You can help me, too, once I, uh...” Mickey gulped, “...finish my work here.” So far, they’d told Yev that Mickey had to be away from home for work, knowing they’d have to offer him a better explanation in the future, depending on how long he was imprisoned. 

Ian squeezed Mickey’s hand, and they were both suddenly aware that their time together was ticking away. Mickey pushed one of the office chairs back and sat down with Yev on his lap. “I think we have time to read that story again.”

Yev bounced up and down and nodded his head excitedly as Mickey reached around and pulled the book from his waistband. Ian crouched down beside them, massaging Mickey’s shoulders as he rested his head on the arm of the chair and listened to the sound of Mickey’s voice as it ebbed and flowed, once again, through the journey of the hungry caterpillar on his way to a miraculous transformation. Yev hummed along with the narration and somehow knew not to protest when the story ended and CO Burns came through the door to escort them out.

Thankfully, she allowed them just enough time for one more hug, and Mickey snuck in a quick peck on Ian’s lips, which as small as it was, sent a jolt through his entire body. 

The same burly guard was waiting outside the office to escort Mickey back into the bowels of the prison. He gruffed at “Inmate Milkovich” to “stop dickin’ around and get back to his cell.” But then he winked at Mickey and smiled at Yev to let him know that his harsh tone was in gest. Yev just stared back at him, not fully understanding what was going on, and Ian quickly distracted him, holding his hand up to wave to Mickey. “Say ‘goodbye’ to Daddy.”

“Bye, Daddy. I love you!”

And it was in that moment that Ian realized he was again on the verge of dying and whatever was left of his heart, bursting all over again in his chest.

On the way to the waiting area, Ian uttered “thank you” after “thank you” to Sheila, wanting to hug her but wisely recognizing she wasn’t the hugging type. She patted Ian lightly on the back and wished him a nice rest of the weekend.

Larry was waiting on them and asked Yev right away if he’d gotten to hear his story again. 

“Yes, and I got to sit on my Daddy’s lap,” he reported happily.

“Well, that’s great, fella! Nothing better than a good story.”

Ian thanked Larry and remarked out loud, sadly, but for everyone’s benefit, “That was a very special thing, Yev. Today only. Next time, we won’t be able to hear the story again. Just once, okay?”

Larry winked at Ian. “We’ll see. We’ll see.”

On the drive to Wallace Street, Yev dozed off, and Ian thought about calling his family to share the experience with them, his heart still racing at the memory of finally having Mickey within reach and being able to touch him again after such a long time. God, they’d needed that. 

But he decided to wait and tell them in person, quietly cherishing every touch, every breath, every sacred moment, replaying those few minutes over and over again, not worrying about what was ahead of them, just appreciating the gift they’d been given.

It was at the end of the week that Ian got a call from Mickey’s attorney, Roger Brooks. He was chipper, which meant good news. He let Ian know that a judge had agreed to reduce the charges against Mickey from attempted murder of Samantha Slott to criminal negligence, should he accept the revised verdict and the new sentence of three years, including time served. 

Ian was alone at the apartment, getting ready to pick Yev up from daycare, and he fell back onto the sofa, holding his head in his hands, mumbling incoherently into the phone. He managed a “thank you” before hanging up and collapsing onto his side, overcome with so many emotions, but mostly relief and joy. Finally, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and this nightmare would be over. _ Thank fuck. _

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to whaticameherefor, who is an awesome beta.


End file.
